The Real Truth
by TheLastofUs
Summary: Greetings to readers. I have decided to document this story for viewer... Entertainment? I am Rodrich's conscience. Perhaps you didn't know, but he was schizophrenic. I am writing in all detail I can remember, for it is only fair he is heard- Rodrich that is. I will start at the very beginning; the beginning of the voices. Rated T for blood and paranoia. PrusxAust if you squint
1. The Voices

Greetings to readers. I have decided to document this story for viewer... Entertainment? I am Rodrich's conscience. Perhaps you didn't know, but he was schizophrenic. I am writing in all detail I can remember, for it is only fair he is heard- Rodrich that is. I will start at the very beginning; the beginning of the voices.

Rodrich's hands flew across the piano keys swiftly without missing a beat. Any one or thing that had been blessed with hearing said music would have easily swooned and fell right there- but isn't that what always happened?

He decided to take a quick break between the hours. His piano bench hardly made a sound as it slid across the tile floor. He gracefully walked across the room to the kitchen where he promptly took a cooled water bottle from the fridge, drinking a small amount before setting it on the granite counter-top.

Half-way through his second rehearsal, he heard soft laughter in (what he depicted as) the corner of the room.

His head swiveled around with such precision as he opened his mouth to speak: "who's there?"  
Rodrich's voice dripped with confusion. Perhaps that was his first mistake? Never feed the predator.

Seeing no one, he turned his attention back to the elaborate sheet music in front of him. He struck a wrong note- which he normally would have brushed off and tried again- but there was another voice reining control in his mind.  
_"Play it again, Beethoven, I'm sure you'll do _much _better"_  
Rodrich turned around once more, his head spinning in all corners. "Hello?" He asked cautiously.  
_"You have reached my voicemail. Please do leave a message after the beep. Or not. Don't bother."_ The same voice laughed a menacing laugh that had no home in any kind or sane heart.  
"Where are you?" Rodrich yelled into his home for the unknown pursuer.  
_"Ah, always the boring questions... Is that why you don't have any friends?"_  
"W-what? Who- where are you?" Rodrich stuttered, yet with a strong voice, he demanded the whereabouts of this mysterious person. He earned no response.

After his first episode, he retired to his bedroom for the night. He convinced himself he was just being delusional- and perhaps he was. But there was this nagging feeling in the back of his oblivious mind that this was not the end. He succumbed to sleep with heavy, childish laughter ringing in the bowels of his soul.

After that, each moment he spent at the piano was frustrating. Any instrument actually; the violin, flute, even the cheap recorder Italy bought him years ago ended in a terribly sharp or flat note.

His hands gracefully pressed each piano key with caution, but the music no longer soothed him; the sounds were twisted, screeched melodies in his ears.

He slammed his hands down onto the keys making a horrid slur of unharmonious notes.

_"At least that sound was better than what you were _trying_ to play. Key word: trying."_  
_"Oh please, TRYING? He wasn't trying."_  
_"Yeah, if he was it would sound even worse!_" And all the voices started laughing.  
By now, Rodrich was used to the voices. The disembodied voices that now held more consciousness than I did in his mind.

_"You know they're not right."_ I tried to scream into his head but my words were only a whisper compared to the boisterous other voices.

Rodrich picked up his weary hands that were once so skilled and nimble. The notes that surfaced were only melancholy melodies that reeked with self-loathing.

He dropped his head onto the piano keys. The once snow-white keys were now a dingy., rotten color; Neglected of care, mirroring his heart. After two months with the voices, all confidence that used to dwell in his body now cowered before the rambunctious kings.

His hair was left uncombed and he hadn't changed clothes in a month. His home smelled disgusting. He hadn't spoken or left his home for two weeks- let alone eaten.  
"_You need to eat_" I managed to whisper loud enough to reach his ears.  
"Why?" Rodrich spoke in a broken voice. His eyes didn't move awry from the same spot that was his abandoned sheet music.  
_"So then you can be fat _and_ not talented,"_ a different voice explained.  
"_No!_" I tried to overpower but there were too many. They were all feeding on my root sentence.  
We were all silenced by a piercing scream.

Rodrich clapped his hands over his ears, letting out a loud scream that would silence a crowd of any amplitude.  
"Shut up! " he screamed, "shut up, shut up, shut up..." But his outburst only egged the voices on.  
_"Big boy finally spoke!" _One erupted in laughter_._  
_"Ew, keep that revolting thing you call a voice to yourself."_

Rodrich fell to his knees and cowered under the piano. His hands still over his ears, but nothing would silence the demonic things. And Rodrich would give anything to do such a thing.  
_"Cut cut cut_" one chanted.  
_"Cut yourself!"_  
_"Haha, no KILL!"_  
_"Die."_ Their voices started overlapping and blending together.  
Rodrich eventually couldn't ignore them anymore. He raised a wavering hand to his wrist, clutching a blade.  
_"I know you can't do it."_  
_"So"_ one said in a disinterested voice.  
"_Weak"_ another finished.

The knife made a slicing sound as it slid across his wrist, but that did not satisfy the voices.  
_"That cut is so small!"_  
_"Chickening out now are you?"_  
He continued to cut himself. His wrists, arms, even gashes in his legs, but the taunting did not stop.  
_"Ugly boy is all red now."_  
_"Ew you really stink."_  
_"What a show! When's the next one?"_  
Rodrich did nothing but lay alone under the piano, his shirt and dress pants soaking in his blood.  
"Should I just kill myself?" Rodrich asked seriously in a small voice.  
_"Yes!"_  
_"Thought you'd never ask."_

"How?"

_"Do I care?"_  
_"Nope."_  
_"Just do it!"_  
_"Die"_ all the voice blended together.  
_"No one would miss you."_  
_"Don't bother planning a funeral."_  
_"No one would attend!"_  
_"They might even bury you alive and dance on your grave!"_  
_"I would."_  
_"They'll be at your door tomorrow with a shovel."_

His eyes were bloodshot from being unable to sleep for so long. The fatigue eventually caught up with his body and his mind shut down, falling under the Sandman's spell.

* * *

"I now call this meeting to order!" Germany bellowed, throwing a fist on the table. "Does anyone have anything important to discuss?"  
"The pasta in France is too dry!" Italy yelled in a horrified tone.  
"You have something against my food?" France grumbled, leaning towards the Italian.  
"I'm just-"  
"Something more important than pasta!" Germany interrupted the arguing countries.  
"More important than pasta?!"  
"Actually," Prussia ignored Italy's question, "hasn't anyone noticed that Austria has not been here for the last four meetings?"  
The other countries looked around for confirmation as Germany took out the attendance list.  
"Hmm, he hasn't." Germany said curiously.  
"I haven't even noticed. He's always so boring! He needs to lighten up," America started, then made an air guitar, "and play some rock and roll instead of that geeky stuff!"  
"Hey, let's be nice..." Canada whispered inaudibly.  
After arguing about where Austria was, Prussia decided he'd go find out what was up.

* * *

At the time, Gilbert only figured he had a really bad cold or some other fever. The flu _was_ going around after all. He had brought some Advil, cough drops, and some healthy snacks as well as a cupcake.  
_Four weeks is a long time, he must be really sick. _Sick. He had no idea. Gilbert approached the door. Even the outside of his house was unkept._ That's strange... Austria always struck me as a clean-freak._  
He brushed it off and rung the doorbell.  
"Hey, Austria! The awesome me has brought you stuff!" He yelled through the closed door. He knocked again, but received the same answer. He pulled the door an it was unlocked.  
Gilbert let himself in, setting the gifts on he counter next to the opened water bottle.  
"Geeze it reeks... What died in here..?" He said to himself wandering through he house. "Austria!" He called again.  
By the time he reached the music room, it was far too evident something was very wrong. The instruments were dingy and coated with dust.  
He placed a finger on a piano key, playing a middle C. He cringed at he sound of the untuned piano.  
"Austria, are you in here?" He yelled again, fear creeping into his tone.  
His gaze dropped to the floor where he saw a trail of blood.  
"Oh my go- Austria?!" He knelt under the forgotten piano.

Rodich lay in a ball, holding a knife by the blade in his palm that already cut deep enough to continually drip blood onto the tiles. His face was pale because of the drained blood. Rodrich kept mumbling incoherently, occasionally shaking his head or kicking one if his feet. For the most part he was still as stone.  
"Holy crap, Austria, your burning up!" Gilbert said, putting a palm to his forehead before quickly withdrawing it. "You need to take off your jacket at least."  
Rodrich's eyes jolted wider and glued themselves to Gilbery when he felt his body being touched.  
"No!" He screamed, his pitch escalating and broken for not speaking for so long.  
"You're going to-" Gilbert stopped speaking as his jacket was removed. His entire chest was covered in gashes, cuts, and bruises. "Austria what the heck happened to you? Who did this?" Gilbert demanded, his "awesome" facade melting away.  
Rodrich crawled away from the man, showing no recognition.  
_"He's pretending"_  
_"You fool!"_  
_"Who would be concerned about _you_?"_  
_"Not me!"_

"You need to get to a hospital," Gilbert was already reaching for his phone.

_"See?"_  
_"He isn't bringing you to a hospital."_  
_"He's going to finish you off himself"_  
_"You should be thankful."_

"Stop!" Rodrich yelled, dropping the blade and covering his ears again. "You traitor! Stop!" His voice wavered in insanity.  
"Austria," Gilbert grabbed his shoulders, "Austria, you're going to be okay. Whomever did this to you will be found," his cellphone connected an he spoke to the operator: "yes, my friend is hurt we need an ambulance."  
"No I don't want it! D-dont... Don't k..." Was all Rodrich could utter before he collapsed of exhaustion.

* * *

He woke up in a white room. There were blue curtains and he was in a bed, hooked up to a machine and other medical equipment. Rodrich lifted his arms, but found a sharp pain. He looked at himself and he was almost covered in bandage from head-to-toe.  
"Where am I?" he mumbled to himself.

"I have the results, sir," a nurse was talking to Gilbert outside the hospital room, "The wounds were self-inflicted. There was no second party. He should heal in a matter of months. He will also need to attend therapy as well."  
"Self...inflicted?" He processed the impossible words. "But... No, Rodrich wouldn't..."  
Gilbert was still helplessly trying to piece together the puzzle as he walked into Rodrich's room.  
Rodrich instinctively moved a centimeter away at the sight of him. His heart monitor started to speed up.  
"Why..?" Gilbert started in a small voice, "why did you do it?"  
Rodrich was at loss for words. "Why did I what?" He asked hoarsely.  
"Don't give me that!" Gilbert yelled abruptly. "What's wrong with you?"  
"I don't know what your talking about!" Rodrich said in the loudest voice he could sum up.  
"Why," Gilbert's tone was angry as he grabbed Rodrich's wrist, "did you," he pulled his bandages down, revealing deep cuts, "Cut. Your. Self?"  
"Why do you care?" Rodrich hadn't the strength to pull his arm away.  
"Why _wouldn't_ I care?"  
"Did his bandages fall down?" A nurse said entering as she started to place them back on properly. Gilbert reluctantly loosened his grip, dropping his hand to his side.  
"I don't know what happens behind that little head, nor would I usually care, but when it gets serious, that's when I say that's enough. Now you can either explain yourself or I can find other means of information," Gilbert said in a low voice when the nurse exited.  
Rodrich was still, voice caught in his throat.  
_"Don't you see?"_  
_"He's threatening you."_  
_"He's no friend."_  
_"You have no friends."_  
_"None!"_  
All the voices blended together, yet each word rung through and clear inside Rodrich's pitiful mind.  
"Just leave me alone! I hate you! I hate _all_ of you!" He screamed as a tear slithered down his cheek.  
Gilbert had never heard such informal, expressive words come from the Austrian before.  
"What did I do to you?" He asked obliviously.  
"No..." Rodrich closed his eyes so tight they looked as if they'd rip apart. "Not. You."  
"I'm sorry sir, visiting hours are over," The nurse shoo'd Gilbert away.  
"Not me..?" The past conversation played over and over in his head. He lay his head in his hands, "I've never been more confused in my life..."

* * *

Over four months later, Rodrich had been released from the hospital and no one had any word of exactly what happened to him. Gilbert had tried to pry, but availed each time.  
Now he was back at his home, clean and doctorally sane.  
He walked nonchalantly into his home as if it was a normal day.  
The water bottle was not on the counter and the instruments were beautifully perfect. The tiles shined with such luster that could only be dreamed. Everything was exactly like it was before the first voice.  
"Welcome back," Gilbert said leaning against the wall.  
Rodrich turned around quickly to acknowledge him.  
"Ah, Prussia, what business might you have here?" And yes, he was back to normal.  
"You've been in the hospital for nearly five months," he stated in a bored tone as if he wished for a more riveting conversation.  
"I apologize for my absence." Rodrich bowed his head a bit before standing up straight once more.  
"So you have nothing to say?" Gilbert's question was more of a statement.  
"I don't know what there is to say," Rodrich turned away and towards the music room.  
At first, Gilbert thought he was going to play, but when he passed the instruments- especially the piano- his gait stiffened, and he walked to his bedroom.  
"Why don't you play me something?" Gilbert asked as Rodrich touched the doorknob to his room, "I haven't heard you in so long."  
"No," fear flickered behind his stone eyes, "I couldn't possibly perform before preparing something properly."  
"Please," Gilbert touched his shoulder.  
"No!" Rodrich shouted accidentally.  
Gilbert withdrew a wavering hand. Whomever this man was, it wasn't the Rodrich he knew. The Rodrich that played at every opportunity whether there was an audience of not- whether he had prepared or not.  
"What if I played with you?" Gilbert asked a bit quieter.  
There was quite a long pause of self-debating before Rodrich finally obliged.  
The two seated themselves on the piano bench. Gilbert had no idea how to play, yet his fingers made contact with the cream-colored keys first.  
Rodrich's hands shook as they grazed the surface of the keys.  
Gilbert struck a C first, glancing over at Rodrich.  
"But you know it's going to sound like a mess of notes if I play," he tried to hint, "maybe you should play on your own..?"  
There was silence for almost ten minutes. Gilbert opened his mouth to speak again when Rodrich gave a shuddering sigh before starting to play.  
It was Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. He played it a bit slower than before and with such precision that was surreal. He never missed a beat, nor a note.  
An abrupt menacing laughter resounded in the back of Rodrich's mind.  
_"Look who's back!"_  
_"You sound so terrible..."_  
_"If I were dying, my last words would be: ' Stop playing; you're killing m-' "_  
More voices blended together.  
His hands froze; an expression of mortal terror plastered onto his face.  
"Austria?" Gilbert asked, but his words were only a whisper behind the voices.  
Rodrich started whispering before Gilbert shook his shoulders.  
"Austria!" He yelled, his voice finally surpassing the fictional ones.  
Rodrich's eyes shook before they shifted towards him.  
"You can't ignore something wrong with you now," his voice was gentle, "what happened to the man who loved to play more than he loved himself?" Gilbert searched Rodrich's eyes for an answer.  
Rodrich was quiet once again, and then, he closed his eyes.  
"Schizophrenia," he said in the loudest voice he could muster.  
"Schizophrenia?" Gilbert repeated.  
"They said that I hear voices that aren't there," Rodrich explained, a bit dully if I may add.  
"Is that bad?" Gilbert asked as he raised an eyebrow.  
Rodrich chuckled a bit before saying: "I'm not sure. At the hospital they said it was severe, but I think it's really something telling me the truth that everyone is too scared to say."  
"It must be pretty bad if it made you cut yourself like that..." Gilbert mumbled almost to himself.  
It was quiet for a moment as Gilbert's processed the words.  
"What do they say..?" He asked curiously, "your voices. why did you look so scared?"  
"It's difficult to explain..."

_"Don't explain."_  
_"He doesn't even care!"_  
_"Why burden people?"_  
_"Why whine like the baby you are?"_  
_"Don't."_  
_"Say."_  
_"A word."_

"Try to," it was Gilbert's voice this time.  
"N-no,"  
"See? There it is! Are you scared of me or something?"

_"Scaredy-cat!"_  
_"Aww look at the baby..."_  
_"Afraid of _everything_."_  
_"Be a man."_

"I'm not scared of you or anything!" Rodrich screamed, "Just leave me alone!"  
"Rodrich!" Gilbert called his real name, "I don't know what they're saying and if you don't tell me I can't help you! Can't you just ignore them and listen to what's real? The person standing in front of you?" He touched his cheek, "listen," he said, "listen to someone who cares about you."

_"He's lying."_

"I.."

_"That liar!"_

"They say..."

_"No one cares!"_

"Tell me."

_"No one understands you."_

"Please?"

_"And no one..."_  
_"Ever..."_  
_"Will..."_

"They said no one cares. No one ever will." Rodrich finally voiced the unspoken words. His voice was small at first, then grew with each word. He closed his eyes, reciting all the venomous words: "I play terribly, like a two year old, that I shouldn't bother eating, cut myself, die, don't plan a funeral because no one will show up. They would dance on my grave if anyone even cared enough to give me one. They would bury me alive because they hate me so much. That it's a pitiful existence a-and I have... I have no friends because I can't do anything right. I-I should just d-die and-" Rodrich through his hands in the air before resting his head in them, "and maybe I should..." His voice lowered.  
Gilbert couldn't think of anything comforting to say- anything that could match what he had just heard.

_"He's silent because he knows it's _true_"_  
_"Ha, now it's not only your head."_  
_"Obviously you're hated. Just kill yourself!"_  
_"Gosh your annoying. Will you just die already?"_

"STOP IT! NO!" He screamed in frequencies that were once thought impossible.  
"Rodrich! What are they saying?" Gilbert panicked.  
Rodrich banged his head on the piano four times before Gilbert grabbed him.  
"When they're talking to you," he said gently, stroking his hair as if he were an infant, "Call my name. Talk to me instead, okay?"  
Rodrich had a bruise that was bleeding a bit on his forehead. After a quiet moment, Rodrich cracked his lips open, his voice hardly audible:  
" ' He's silent because he knows it's true; Ha, now it's not only your head. ; Obviously you're hated. Just kill yourself!;  
Gosh your annoying. Will you just die already?' " Rodrich recalled in a whisper, "that's what they said..."  
It took a minute for Gilbert to come up with a response, but when he had, his voice was angelic, "you're the smartest man I've ever known, and by far most talented. "  
Rodrich started to cling to the shirt pressed to his, but Gilbert wasn't finished yet.  
"You're so polite and so kind, you're always logical and never judge people. You don't take rumors; you learn things through experience."  
By now Rodrich's tears were drenching Gilbert's shirt, but he couldn't care less.  
"You," Gilbert pressed his lips to the top of Rodrich's head, "are the most beautiful person I've ever met."  
"I..."  
"If you object to this, I'll..." Gilbert pondered what he could do, "I'll... I don't know! But I'll do something," he pouted.  
Rodrich's giggled a little and nuzzled into his embrace, "I've never heard anyone say anything like that before."  
"Really? Even the talent part?" Gilbert found this incredulous.  
Rodrich let out a 'hmm' meaning yes.  
"Well I guess we all thought you already knew. I mean it should be _obvious_. "  
By now the two were back to sitting side-by-side.  
"What goes unsaid should never be interpreted as true," Rodrich whispered more to himself than the man next to him, "to me, for something to be true, it must be expressed through words and actions."  
Gilbert waited a bit before pointing out:  
"But you took your... Voices? Hallucinates? You take those seriously... Why?"  
And at that moment, it was as if the darkest corner of Rodrich's mind had been lit up. As if Gilbert had shown a light into the shadows of his mind, frightening the evil hallucinations away. For the first time, he had seen the truth- the real truth- and he would never be fooled again.  
"Yes..." It took great force to get the words out, "and I haven't the slightest idea why." And then Rodrich picked his hands up again, traveling over the neglected piano keys.  
He played just as beautifully as before- maybe even more so. The voices never bothered him again, though they _are_ heard at times. But at those times, he always had a friend. One of which who knows the truth well enough to ensure that it is heard by even the lowest and most desperate of souls. That The real truth shall always prevail. The real truth that every girl and boy- man and woman- need to hear. No matter what any heart may claim, it is always comforting to hear the words spelled out and spoken.

* * *

**Thank you for reading~! It took me a couple days to write this... and I wrote it on my phone. XD I normally wait until I can get to a computer (I was on vacation) but this one was just nagging at my brain so I had to write it :3 Remember to review!**


	2. The Real Truth

It was at the moment that Roderich picked up his neglected fingers. The tips grazed the forgotten pine of the piano keys and he gingerly pressed down only hard enough to let a perfect A resound in the room. Taking a deep breath, the man then started playing all over again. A new song was played humbly. Softly. Gorgeously.

It was no ordinary Bach. No ordinary Beethoven or Mozart. No, it was not Breval or Tchaikovsky, Csardas or Popper, Brahms– who were they anyways? They had a pitiful existence– pitiful compositions compared to the melodies that were cascading from the stringed percussion instrument at the hands of the magnificent.

It was Roderich Edelstein. And nothing– no one could intervene.

Those pernicious voices spewing hateful lies were silenced at once. The music washed into his ear and his heart. Drowning the horrid hallucinations. They struggled to shout up at him– to silence him– but nothing was heard. Nothing but his harmonious notes. And harmonious they were.

Gilbert sat still as stone– shocked to say the least. In all his years, he'd never heard a song so beautiful– no. Not even _beautiful_ did it justice. And he had no control over the frigid stream that glided down his cheek.

Then the music faded with a final chord.

Roderich opened his violet eyes at last. Contempt replaced the dread and fear that one reigned in its place. Roderich breathed slowly again, smoothly, and ran his hands across the keys. Communicating to the instrument in unrecognizable ways to even I.

"What was that?" Gilbert attempted to talk, but his voice came out cracked and choked.

Roderich glanced over in his direction with his same plain face as always. Then, ever so slightly, his cheeks brightened, and he cracked a smile into his stony apparel. The smile even reached his eyes.

"Something new," he replied with a gentle tone you've all but dreamed as he looked back to his piano. "I decided to call it _The Real Truth_."

And his nimble fingers replayed the main theme as he glanced back to his companion again with a question: "Why, did you like it?"

* * *

**_Anyways, I really hated how I ended this story, and I feel more at peace with this mini-epilogue. BTW I meant no offense when I said the composers had a pitiful existence– I love Tchaikovsky and Popper myself! I was only trying to make Roderich look better. But what do you guys think? I'd really appreciate your comments ^.^ So THIS IS THE END. FOR SURE!_**


End file.
